The Prat and The Idiot in the 21st Century
by csiphantom
Summary: DannyPhantom and Merlin crossover: It appeared to be an entirely mundane day for Dash till out of the blue, he got a vision of someone who looks like Danny... only naked. Rated M for Bad Language and Groovy Gay Love.


Danny Phantom/Merlin Crossover

Dash glimpses his past on Monday, right before classes start. Standing at the lockers, he freezes as the memories from his past flood past him. He remembers…

_Facing the Dragon, readying himself for a fiery death but somehow emerging victorious… Joy…_

_A flash of pale skin as Merlin disrobes for him for the first time after they return in his chambers, a celebration, a ritual of thanks for their survival, one that repeats itself so many times in the days after he is compelled to admit they have become more than prince and servant, more than friends... Warmth…_

_Gold eyes as Merlin reveals his secret… Resignation… _

_Frantic kisses as he reassures his not-so-clumsy manservant he will not turn him over to his father's judgement, to the executioner's axe, not now, not ever… Desperation…_

_The coronation after Uther's passing… Sorrow…_

_A wide, beautiful grin… _

"_Sire…"_

As Dash came back to the present with a screeching of rubber that he soon realized was less metaphorical and quite literal. Danny Fenton skidded to halt right in front of him, his shoes leaving tracks on the school's linoleum flooring as he backpedalled furiously to avoid crashing into Dash.

"Woah!" He says, eyes wide as he realizes Dash is staring right at him. "Crap." Heaving a sigh, Danny shrugs, his gaze turning resigned, clearly waiting for the customary beating.

Dash blinks as he remembers the flashbacks. 'OH FUCK. Did I just have a freaking fantasy about Danny effing Fenturd… AND HE WAS NAKED!!!'

Paralyzed by what had just become the largest crisis of his teenage life, Dash is in no condition to respond in the usual manner to Danny's presence.

Danny, still cringing in front of him, eventually notices the silence and lack of pain.

"Hunh?" He goes, intelligently.

"Fuck!" Dash repeats, out loud. Looking at Danny then wildly searching for an escape route. He's a jock, he can't deal with these situations. How do you react when you've just had… a.. a… well… about Fenturd! FENTURD!!!" He would swear but he's out of words. His rudimentary vocabulary can't cover this, not even close.

Opposite Dash, Danny has a quizzical expression on his face…

'He's… acting weird again.' He frowns.

The last time Dash acted weird, he was possessed by Walker. Which means maybe he'd have to go ghost. Wait! This could be one of those rare days where he had a legitimate reason to punch Dash in the face…

Awesome.

But he needed proof first. He wasn't about to go ghost in front of the real Dash. His ghost sense didn't always go off around possessed humans, that might be why no alarms were ringing at the moment, so he'd have to use the other method.

"Hey Dash, do you know by any chance, what country are we living in?"

A blank look was all he got back. Damn it, it was just Dash on a particularly slow day. Hmmm… which means he should probably escape now while Dash's consciousness was off orbiting a distant planet.

Spotting a clear hallway, he makes a dash for it (no pun intended). Snort.

Dash comes back to planet Earth, finally realizing while he was having a mental breakdown, Fenton had escaped. The paranoid thought occurred; maybe Danny had noticed his weird behavior and deduced something of what he had been panicking over. He turned to the lockers and began smashing his head into them.

Finally ceasing after his head had begun to hurt and the locker begun to retain the negative imprint of his facial features (seriously, you could pour Plaster of Paris in there and get a mask of his face…) He turned back and trudged to homeroom for which he was extremely late. (Not like that'd get him detention or anything; privileges of being the star of the football team…)

"Maybe he won't notice?" he remarked out loud, hopefully. Wincing as his voice echoed down the passageway. "He wouldn't know." He reassured himself, "No way, he's not some mind reader. He won't know. He won't."

The rest of the day passes in a blur of him trying to avoid Fenton for once. Which he realized was pretty hard to do.

He never knew he was so accustomed to ferreting out his favorite target that most of his day was planned around these events, and his posse still hadn't caught on today was going to be different.

So… In order to avoid Danny, he also had to avoid his ever so helpful friends always keeping a look out for the scrawny boy. He figured they might look askance at his turning down an opportunity to beat up Fenton.

Kwan especially, was likely to notice his unusual behavior. The worse thing that could happen was Kwan asking questions.

Questions meant answers. Answers meant thinking about THAT.

He was very good at denial, thank you, and he wanted to keep it that way.

So yes, the day passed and the fact that he managed to avoid Fenton that day was miracle in itself.

Alas, his success led to him letting his guard down which led to… other things.

---

When he gets home, Dash has dinner with his parents, watches TV for an hour or so and evades his mom's probing questions on the subject of his homework (it's not as if he could tell her he doesn't have to do his own homework, ever. He's a freaking jock, period.)

He heads upstairs after the second program ends, showers before changing into his bedclothes: a large cotton shirt and a pair of loose flannel pants.

He gets into bed, already exhausted and wishing he knew what was wrong with him.

He slides his arm under the pillows and beneath his head, dozing off to sleep with the thought that maybe everything will go back to normal when he wakes.

He dreams again…

_A large four-poster affair, all decked out in red and gold. The wood is a dark ebony and carved into the head boar is a wide expanse of Celtic knots. Draped over the top are fabrics of the sheerest material, so flimsy they stir in the faintest of breezes. _

_Pale limbs beckoning him to the bed. _

_He walks over, a goblet of wine in his hand. The vision on the sumptuous sheets gives him a 'come hither' look, stretching out an arm to pull him closer as soon as he steps within arms range. _

_He topples onto the bed and the wine spills. The heady scent of his favorite vintage grows almost overpowering. Ruby red liquid runs in trails down the naked belly of the man in front of him. _

_He is drunk, not on alcohol, but on the beauty of his dearest love, smiling up at him sweetly. Whispering his name lovingly, eyes gleaming with possessive glee. _

_Wicked fingers trace down his chest and then… _

Dash jolts back into consciousness with shout. He discovered he was 'glued' to his bed sheet, flannel pants somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles and feeling way too hot for all the temperature reading device on the wall said 64 degrees Fahrenheit.

It wasn't like it was the first time in his life something like this happened. (Though later, he muses that even if it had been he doubted the trauma could still get any greater.) It was the subject of the dreams that was the problem.

Sitting up in horror (with perhaps a teensy bit of flailing) as he remembers what he just dreamt about in vivid HD, he groans and throws himself backwards on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in despair.

He squeaks in shock (which he will deny later, he's good at that remember?) when his mother bursts into his room. Then he recalls making quite a bit of noise when he woke up so spectacularly.

"Honey? I heard shouting, are you alright?" his mother looked relieved to see nothing visibly wrong with her son.

"I'm fine mom," he said faintly pink, which was perfectly normal. It was a hot summer. Thus he was feeling warm, perfectly logical. Blatantly he ignored the fact that he had the air-conditioner on full blast. He was NOT blushing damn it.

His mother looks knowing all of a sudden. She takes a breath.

"Dash, have you been having certain… dreams? You're father and you had the 'The Talk' already, right?" She distinctly remembered her husband's reluctance on the matter.

Her face blackens, "At least, he'd better have had."

Not really believing what his mother was saying, Dash flashes her a looks of complete trauma, leaping out of bed to slam the door.

"I'm going to change for school mum!" He shouts, from behind the safety of the wooden barrier.

"You don't have to shout dear, I can hear you just fine you know… All the way from downstairs in fact." Dash could hear her voice tremble with mirth on that last sentence. As if to confirm that, yes, his mom knew he'd just had one of THOSE dreams, a giggle floated up the stairs.

Dash shakes his head in defeat, his mom was EVIL.

Hearing his mother's footsteps fade away, the teen sighs in relief. Having 'the Talk' once was more than any teen should have to bear; he bloody well didn't want an encore.

That and he needed a shower… he recalled the dream for a moment, correction, he needed a very, very cold shower.

Realizing he had a school day and how the latest dream made it ineluctable he avoid Fenton, he groaned in despair (again).

Someone was out to get him; he just knew it. Shaking a fist at the general direction of 'up there', he set about getting ready for school.

Stepping into the shower, and standing under the stinging flow of cold water, he came up with a simple strategy.

Avoid Danny Fenton at all costs to prevent any more possible and disturbing mental scenes. That were not at all titillating. At all.

Dash wonders about his suddenly upgraded vocab, but shakes it off as a side effect of his recent mental breakdowns.

Or perhaps, to the increased number of nerds he'd been beating up lately. Maybe it was possible to get smarter from that, through osmosis or something.

Dammit he did it again! 'Note to self' he thought, 'remember to cut down on the number of nerd beatings and concentrate on the geeks for a while.'

He should probably warn his fellow jocks, they might all become smart, and then where would the social strata of high school go to?

To the dogs that's where.

His momentary distraction aside, he really should concentrate on the game plan. Right. In order to avoid Fenton he'd made a list of possible refuges.

He could try hiding behind lockers, garbage cans, and possibly people, large people. Even though the only person he knew large enough to hide him was Large Margot, the fattest girl in the school.

He could always hide under the geeks' table and threaten them to 'shut up or else', if he was desperate.

If all else fails, get Kwan to push Fenton into a locker, to give him a chance to run away.

Unexpectedly, the thought of the other jock laying his hands on Danny sent immediate tendrils of what suspiciously resembled jealousy through his chest.

Scratch that then.

He was going to be late if he didn't get moving seeing as he had taken longer than usual in the bathroom. Ahem.

Dressed in his usual school attire, his blond hair still slightly damp, he snuck downstairs, past his mom in the kitchen and rushed out the door before she could make any sly comments.

Out on the street he breathes a sigh of relief and makes his way to the school.

Of course, and he rolled his eyes, of course his carefully crafted crafty plan was smashed to bits when, on his way to school, of all the people he had to crash into, it was none other than Danny Fenton himself.

They were tangled together in a heap, Dash's full weight pressing down on Danny who gave a squeak of protest. Pushing himself up with his arms, Dash looked down.

The other boy lay on the ground, gasping for breath as if he was doing something far more strenuous than running to school. Seeing the smaller boy sweaty, panting, and breathless beneath him, Dash felt his mouth go dry for a very long moment.

Getting back to his senses, he notices some very bad bruising on Danny's arms. Those hadn't been there yesterday, and he was positive that no one but him actually targeted Danny. Wait, when did he start calling Danny, Danny? Damn it, he was doing subconsciously now!

The boy under him moaned in pain, finally trying to get himself off the pavement. Apparently, slamming against Dash's chest had been like hitting a brick wall (which made him feel rather smug).

Acting completely out of character, Dash got up swiftly, then helped the smaller boy up (who was still too woozy to notice who exactly he had bumped into).

As he did, he got a closer look at those bruises, which looked pretty bad. Wait a minute, did that mean Danny had another bully? Danny was HIS!

…Er, to bully.

His victim, dammit, and no one else's! His pissed off look must've been pretty obvious when he heard Danny meep in fright. He must have finally noticed that Dash was the brick wall he had crashed into.

"It's! Oh! Oh my god! I'm sorry! Um!" Danny was not very articulate in his panicky moments; Dash noted absently he was practically hyperventilating while his voice rose in pitch. It was almost… cute, him being flustered like that.

Wait.

Not cute, he meant funny. As in, his wimp-ness was laughable. Ha. Ha ha. Uh…

"We're going to be late you know, Da- Fenton, so we'd better get going." He grabs the boy's way-too-skinny arm and pulls him into a run towards the school.

---

Danny was too stunned to do anything but follow him. He was still coming down from the adrenalin high after battling and defeating yet another ghost when he crashed right someone who was built, built like whoa.

It knocked all the breath out of him and he experienced a brief flash of envy (he wished he could get muscles like that…) He had been casually helped up after the spill- which was why he couldn't believe his eyes after looking up and recognizing the football player as the one who'd lifted him up.

As they ran, he worried if being possessed resulted in brain damage. Dash had been possessed quite a few times after all, and it would explain the sudden 'bout of non-aggression. It was almost as if Dash had gone a full 360 and forgot he actually hated Danny.

Poor Dash, he couldn't believe he was saying it but… Poor Dash. He was already slow to start with, now ectoplasm was depriving him of his basic brain functions.

He wasn't even insulting him anymore! At this rate, Dash might end up a drooling vegetable in some mental hospital all too soon!

---

Dash looked back to his former punching bag as he yanked him along. He wondered why Danny was giving him an odd look. Had he forgotten to brush his teeth or something? He distinctly remembered using his toothpaste, but wait, what about his deodorant? Fuck, that must be it.

They turned into the compound and stop.

Well, Dash stops. The momentum carries Danny forward and he almost falls down again. Dash manages to stop him from taking a spill by tugging sharply at their joined hands.

Danny doesn't fall, but he does stumble right into Dash's less than reluctant arms.

Danny blinks and looks up and goes "thanks", in a rather dazed voice.

Slowly and cautiously, he takes his hand out of Dash's; like Dash was some volatile wild creature and he shouldn't make any sudden movements.

Dash bites his lip as Danny heads into the school, with another strange look at him. Watching Danny's back stroll into school, Dash fights the sudden and inexplicable urge to run after him and grab his hand again.

Catching up, he nonchalantly strolls as close to Fenton as it was possible without causing him to flee in terror.

It works, almost. He notices Danny stiffens slightly, and starts walking a little faster.

"Nice weather we're having?" He offered, trying to diffuse the tension.

His pathetic attempt at conversation earns him an incredulous look from Fenton.

It said: What. The. Hell.

He decided not to try again.

When they reach the classroom, both of them late, Lancer starts to tell Danny he has detention, yes, again, when Dash cuts him off claiming it was his fault they were late, really. And also if maybe this time he could cut Danny a little slack. Insert his best good ol' boy smile here.

He was proud of that expression; he'd practiced it for ages in his bathroom mirror to get it just right.

When he had been practicing it, he'd imagined an audience of swooning fan girls and coyly smirking cheerleaders. He'd imagined using it on the teachers to get favors, like say turning a blind eye to forgotten homework and etc, or charming the pants off of his current girlfriend of the week's parents.

He most certainly hadn't visualized the entire class gaping at him in shock, disturbed expressions and a few choice epithets from his football buddies.

Oh well.


End file.
